It Wasn't Silenced
by Shorty Carter
Summary: To some it may seem that the voice has been silenced. But to the rest the voice hasn't been silence, but merely passed on. It lives on in the next generation. ONE SHOT


It Wasn't Silenced  
By: Shorty Carter  
  
The funeral past in a blur of tears and looks. Everyone looked at him with sorry looks on their faces. He had only cried once, and who knows why but that's how it happened. He just couldn't cry at times like this. It was one of the prettiest services he had ever seen. He didn't know why people were so sad, though. You know, sure it's a funeral, but the person is in a better place, no longer suffering, no longer in pain. Free from body, spirit shining like the morning sun, free. Suddenly a butterfly burst from the flower arrangement draped on the coffin, making its way towards the sun. He knew his friend was still there, if he only listened. If he just listened.  
  
Racetrack Higgins stared blankly at the gaping hole in front of him, his brown eyes distant and emotionless. The pastor was saying something, but the words were jumbled sounds to his ears. A little boy next to him tugged at his hand, a woman on his other side weeping against his shoulder.   
"Race, where's daddy? Why is mommy crying?" the little boy asked, stealing a look at the woman, his mother.   
"Your daddy's gone away for a while, to a better place," Race said, looking down at the child. The child looked confused, big chocolate brown eyes innocent to the world.   
"Better dan here?"   
"Better dan here."   
"Den I wanna go," the boy said, standing tall.   
"But you hafta stay here and take of your mother. She's crying because she misses him and she knows she can't go with him," Race said, placing his hand on the boy's dirty blonde head.  
"Den I'll take care of her. I make sure no more tears come." With that the boy went to his mother, hugging her around the legs. "Mommy, don' cry. Daddy wouldn' like it." The woman looked down at her child and smiled faintly, kneeling on the soft ground next to her boy.   
"All right, Luke. I won't cry. Just for you, Lil' Cowboy, just for you," she whispered, pulling him into a hug. The pastor quit speaking, and people began to disperse. Race and the mother each threw a soft petal, silky white rose into the grave, the boy watching all the while. The three just stood there, eyes fixed on the grave as the last of the people left.   
"He will be missed, greatly. His last stand will forever be spoken through the streets of New York," Race said, voice quivering. The events of the last week flashed through his head, every bloody moment.  
  
_Flash back_   
  
"Jack, don't! Please!" Sarah begged, blocking his path. Jack Kelly just stared at his wife, brown eyes undeciding. He had to do this, to end this once and for all.   
"I have to do this, Sarah. Please understand," he whispered, not wanting his son to hear.   
"Then let me go with you! Let me fight with you!" she cried, grabbing his shoulders.   
"You know I can't do that! Sarah, I need to do this, by myself." With that he pushed past her, through the doorway she had been blocking. He got halfway down the hall when he stopped and turned around. "Take care of Luke, Sarah. Let him know who his father was, let him live what his father lived. Race will always be here for you, and so will Mush and the rest of the guys. And Sarah?" he said, making her look up. "I love you." Then he was gone; down the hall, through the main door, and down the noisy streets of the city he had grown up in. Just down the street was a noisy mob of men and boys, all shouting angry words pointed towards one building: The New York Sun. It was a strike for higher wages, better working conditions, friendlier working hours. People were yelling from both the building and the streets, throwing threats at one another, throwing objects at one another, and doing various other things. Jack joined in, helping to force the door down. Then the police came, guns ready, and the massacre began.  
  
By morning the streets were the color of crimson blood, with bodies lying everywhere and the wounded being dragged to prison. Sarah was down in the mess, searching for her husband. She tried to think the best, but the sight of one body shattered any hope left in her. Race had come with her, leaving little Luke with Spot. Sarah ran to her husband's still body, shaking his body. There was a single bullet hole in his chest, his clothes matted to his body with blood. Sarah cried, and Race tried his best to comfort her. The rest of the events passed by quickly. Almost a week passed before the funeral, letting friends from all over the city gather for his final appearance. Then came the day...  
  
_End Flash_   
  
"Come on, Sarah. Let's go home. Spot said he'd come by and stay a few days. Luke, come on Lil' Cowboy," Race said, holding his hand out for the little boy to hold. Together they left, leaving the grave and it's simple headstone behind. The words on the headstone were simple, yet held so much meaning.  
  
Jack Kelly  
1882 – 1908  
Loving father, trusted friend, true leader  
Jack, you will always be remembered Sometimes, all it takes is a voice, one voice. Then a thousand. Unless it's silenced.  
  
Race knew the voice wasn't silenced. It had been passed on, to the next generation. The next generation, starting with a little boy no more than 4 years old.  
  
Shorty's Note: I wrote this to get rid of my writer's block, and it worked. After reading a story I wrote about my grandmother, of which the first paragraph is almost excatly like the last paragraph in my story, I was inspiried. In all truth, a butterfly did burst from the flowers draped on my grandmother's coffin as we were loading it into the hearse. Any way, review! And if you'd like to read that story about my grandmother, just ask! I'll send it to you!


End file.
